


The Triplicate Terror

by HerotheHardWay



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Fading Talent, Gen, Lucy Holly bonding, Lucy POV, Post-Canon, Post-The Creeping Shadow, implied Holly/OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerotheHardWay/pseuds/HerotheHardWay
Summary: Lockwood & Co. has been down on clients ever since Marissa Fittes vowed to put them out of business.  But dealing with the Specter of their new client's late wife may be more complicated than any of them had anticipated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All rights for the world of Lockwood & Co. belong to Jonathan Stroud.

The five members of Lockwood & Co. sat around the kitchen table, each moodily doodling on the thinking cloth. Since Marissa Fittes had made known her intentions to drive them us of business, Lockwood & Co. hadn’t exactly been swimming in cases. Sometimes I gloomily paged through their casebook, thinking back to when we could barely get around to _doing_ all the cases we had ongoing. The last few months had been considerably slower. We’d get the occasional calls from suburban housewives scared of cold spots in their houses, the occasional spectre or shade, and once in a blue moon, an actual Type II case would come in. But the political machinations of the Fittes Agency were powerful indeed. I couldn’t _actually_ remember when they’d had a really interesting case.

The shrill tone of the telephone split the air. All five of us jumped, startled.

Lockwood eyed it suspiciously. “Perhaps it’s a wrong number?” The phone kept ringing.

Lockwood was at the phone in seconds. “Lockwood & Co, this is Anthony Lockwood speaking, how may we assist you?” The caller, whoever they were, responded, and Lockwood frantically gestured to Kipps to hand him the pad of paper sitting on the table. The four of us who weren’t on the phone stared at each other, the same question in all our eyes. Was it really a client?

“Tonight? Oh terribly sorry, but I’m afraid that’s rather short notice for us, and we’re already booked this evening. Would tomorrow night work?” He scribbled down a couple notes and an address, as we all turned to stare at him instead of each other. That was a blatant lie. “Spendid! We look forward to doing business with you, Mr. Caton. Goodbye.” Lockwood hung up, then turned towards Holly, George, Kipps and me with his trademark Lockwood grin. “This is going to be an interesting one!”

 “Do we have a case?” asked Holly.

“Yes! Tomorrow evening, which gives a little time to do some research, get everything ready. It sounds like a Type II for _sure_ so we’d better make sure we’re up to date on all our gear.” Lockwood responded, apparently unable to stop smiling. The mood in the room shifted from despondent to energized in a second. “Mr. Caton—that’s our client, by the way—told me his daughter has been seeing her mother at the bottom of the garden every night, pacing back and forth. Mrs. Caton died just a few months ago, apparently lost her balance on the third story balcony and fell to her death. Doesn’t sound like enough reason for a haunting to me, especially a Type II that isn’t even haunting the place she died.”

 “And why is this unusual?” Kipps drawled, tipping his chair back on two legs.

 “Yes, I did. The thing is, all this sounds like a pretty standard Specter, right?” Lockwood continued without waiting for a response. “But here’s the catch. Mrs. Caton is haunting this house down at the bottom of the garden, quite far away from the main house.”

 “But didn’t you say she’d died right outside it?” George asked. He pushed his glasses up in that way George does when he’s interested in something.

 “Exactly! I thought it was a bit odd. And as we’re not exactly swimming in cases…” Lockwood gave a depreciating little laugh. “Anyway, we’d better do a bit of research, just to be on the safe side. George, Kipps, as soon as you’ve gathered the gear, why don’t you head to the archives, see if there’s anything we need to know about the house?”

George nodded, then rushed downstairs to start getting their gear squared away, and Kipps followed after him a minute later. Holly disappeared as well. It was just Lockwood and me left. “Lockwood,” I started, paused, then “Why’d you tell Mr. Caton that we’re booked tonight? You know we aren’t.”

“Oh, just something I thought I’d try.” Lockwood said, busying himself with scribbling some more notes on the paper. “Makes us seem busier than we are, and all that, makes us look like we’re in high demand.” He sounded a little strained, as if it hurt him to say it. “If he called us at all, he’s either been hiding under a rock for the last few months, or he cares more about us getting the job done than he does about those nasty rumors the Fittes Agency has been spreading about us.” He took a deep breath, then smiled at me. I felt my stomach do a little flop. “It paid off though, right?”

“It did!” I said a little breathlessly, smiling back. I felt a little jittery, but then again I always felt a bit odd nowadays when Lockwood turned the full force of his smile on me. I suspected it had to do with having left the company for several months. I must have built up a tolerance to it, and lost it completely while I was gone.

Lockwood let out a little _hah_ and broke my gaze. “Yeah, it did. I’m going to go downstairs and help George some more. The chains, uh, they’re pretty heavy” And with that rather confusing statement, he hurried out of the kitchen and downstairs to the office. 

“But _I_ can lift the chains too, they’re not that…” I trailed off, speaking to an empty room. With a sigh, I climbed up to the attic. I _definitely_ needed to do laundry before I was fit to be seen by a client.

Two hours later, Kipps and George were off on a research mission, and Lockwood was out buying more supplies. As I was carrying dirty clothes down, and clean ones up, Holly gave a little cry.

“Oh no!” She wailed, frantically grabbing a handful of tissues and attempting to wipe up the puddle of black ink on her desk before it ran onto her clothes.

I hurried to help her wipe up the mess, and once we’d finished, I glanced at what she’d been writing. Instead of her normal perfect printed handwriting, the paper was covered in elegant cursive. “Woah, Holly, who’re you writing to?”

Holly, to my surprise, looked uncomfortable. “Oh, nobody. It’s not important, really.”

“Oh. Then why have you written,” I squinted at the loopy writing, “You know how much I adore you…?" 

“Oh, no reason! I just, you know, have some friends from home…” she said evasively, covering the letter with her hand and now extremely flustered. I’d never seen Holly less cool and composed.

“Okaaaay. Welp. I guess I’ll just take these clothes upstairs. But you know, Holly, you _were_ the one who said we should tell each other stuff. So let me know what he says back!” I winked, pick up my laundry, and disappear upstairs, leaving Holly sputtering in the basement.  

* * *

 

 

That evening, we convened around the thinking cloth to pool our information. George and Kipps had several pages of information they’d gathered at the archives.

“31 Grove Street, the current residence of Mr. Albert Caton, has a pretty interesting history,” George began, “it’s actually previously been haunted. As far as usefulness goes though, the newspapers aren’t very. The first case wasn’t anything to write home about, just a pretty ordinary Grey Lady twenty years ago that the Rottwell Agents took care of in one night, no fuss.”

“The first case?” Lockwood asked.

“Yes, that was the first.” Kipps picked up the story. “Then, four years ago, there was _another_ haunting. Same house, different owners this time. And this time it was a Specter like Allison Caton. In fact, the same thing happened again. Haunting down at the bottom of the garden. The funny thing about that was, nobody ever figured out who’d died and caused it in the first place. They ended up just wrapping up the case once they’d found the Source, which I believe was a motor scooter in the back road past the garden, apparently unconnected to the house at all.”

“I seriously doubt anyone’s gone to the bother of tracking this out, otherwise there would be a DEPRAC investigation for sure,” George continued, “because there was _third incident_ at this house. Again, a new owner, which we should definitely ask Mr. Caton about incidentally, but anyway. This time, there was an old lady living in the house, by herself. There wasn’t actually any psychic investigation ever performed, because they couldn’t figure out how she’d died, but it looked like she’d actually been _scared_ to death. That seemed pretty fishy to me, given the house’s history, but apparently nobody ever looked into it. The house was empty for a bit, on account of the previous owner dying and all that, but it got cleared out, and the Catons moved in six months ago.”

 I could tell we were all thinking the same thing. “So, I’m guessing there’s something nasty in the garden.” I suggested.

“It’s possibly some low-level haunting that caused the other deaths?” Holly added.

 George adjusted his glasses in a thoughtful way. “Maybe,” he said doubtfully, “but that doesn’t explain the old lady.”

 Quill Kipps rolled his eyes theatrically. “Cubbins, old people die all the time. It’s what they _do._ ”

 “I still think it’s connected. She looked _scared_ _to death_.” George’s eyebrows were furrowed as he stared at his notes.

 “You obviously think too much.” 

“I think the proper amount, thank you very much.” George said mildly. “Anyone else want a raisin bun or two? I’m going to heat one up.” Four hands shot into the air.

 As we drank tea and munched on ginger biscuits, my mind immediately went to Skull. It was sitting quietly on the sideboard, but I knew it had heard every word. It would probably be able to help me find the source of the whole situation. I knew I could rely on the others to handle a Specter, and a pretty mild one at that, if what Mr. Caton had said was accurate.

 We dispersed off to our respective bedrooms after finishing the buns, and I made sure to grab Skull before going to my bedroom.

  _I can tell by your expression that you’re planning something idiotic._ Skull pressed its gruesome face against its glass.

“Um, no, you can’t actually. I don’t _have_ a planning face. That’s Lockwood’s thing.” I responded, busying myself with folding the laundry, avoiding looking at Skull.

  _So, going to clue old Skully in on it? You know we’re the best team, Lucy. Skull and Carlyle, that’s what I’m always telling you! But noooo you had to come back here, to this team of nincompoops. We could have been great!_

Skull prattled on, and I studiously ignored it. I didn’t have a plan, except to do some investigating of the general property. I really didn’t. Finally, I covered the Skull Jar with a towel and went to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang arrives at their client's house, talk to small children, and the temperature falls.

The next evening, we headed off to Grove Street. This late in August, it was still light until almost 9 PM, but we left Portland Row with three hours of daylight remaining, to be on the safe side. Lockwood & Co. may not be quite as _strict_ with our operating procedure at night, but we always made sure to be as prepared as we could be. Also, we didn’t exactly have to hurry off to another case.

 31 Grove Street turned out to be way out on the fringes of London, where houses were quite a bit more spread out, and the roads were laid out every which way. The house was blindingly white in the glow of the sunset, which suggested it’d had a fresh coat of paint in the very recent past.

 Mr. Caton, when he answered the door, was a skinny balding man, wire frame glasses perched on his nose. His daughter, who shyly peeped around her dad’s legs, looked around seven, with wispy brown hair that had been swept back into two pigtails.

 “Good evening Mr. Caton, I’m Anthony Lockwood, and these are my fellow agents, Lucy, George, Holly and Kipps—er, Quill.” Lockwood stuck out his hand.

 Mr. Caton took it and started shaking vigorously, speaking quietly and very fast. “Good evening Mr. Lockwood, so glad you could come on short notice. I’m sure your Agency is _very_ busy, what with the upswing of ghosts this year. I’ve heard amazing things about you, that’s for sure. This is my daughter—“

 “I’m Poppy, and I’m six and a half!” the little girl piped up, beaming.

 “—Yes, this is Poppy. Won’t you all come in? I’m sure you have a lot to do, and I’m sure you’d like to know more about the case before night,” Mr. Caton laughed a bit awkwardly, “and Poppy is quite a chatterbox, you know. She’d love to tell you all about what she’s seen.”

 Lockwood carefully extricated his hand from Mr. Caton’s, and walked into the house. George and I exchanged glances, but we all filed after him.

 As we followed Mr. Caton to the living room, which seemed to be at the back of the house, I could feel a very low-level psychic hum. It pervaded the house, although it was stronger as we got closer to the back yard. It was too early for anything definite, of course, but I could tell this wouldn’t be a boring night.

 The living room was jam-packed with squashy looking armchairs and couches and stools, and we happily sank into them, dropping our bags on the floor.

 All of us except Lockwood, that is, who sat very straight in a high-backed armchair. He contemplated Poppy, who had perched on a very cushy stool, and was swinging her legs. “Mr. Caton,” he asked, glancing up for a minute, “do you mind going and putting some hot water on?”

 “Of course!” Mr. Caton exclaimed. “I should have thought of that! I’ll get on it right away.” He hurried out of the room, in the direction of the kitchen, I assumed.

 Holly was the first one to speak, surprising everyone. With a kind smile on her face, she asked, “Poppy, sweetheart, could you tell us a bit about what you’ve seen?”

 Poppy became significantly more subdued at the question, although she was still bouncing her legs. She stared into her lap, and I suddenly remembered with a jolt that her mother had died only a few months ago. “I saw Mommy in the garden, watering her plants when I was getting ready for bed.” She said slowly. “But Mummy died a long time ago, in February. My dad said that she’s a ghost now.” She looked up, to my surprise straight at _me_. “I don’t think my mom is a ghost.” She said defiantly.

 I raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you think she’s a ghost?”

 Poppy crossed her arms, as if to protect herself, and it broke my heart a little. “My mom just fell off the balcony! Katie at school said ghosts are because of them wanting something still when they die.” She sniffed. “But Mummy always said that she was happy taking care of me and my mum and dad loved each other. I don’t think she needed to come back.”

 Without a second thought, I got up and squeezed myself onto the stool with Poppy, and pulled her onto my lap. “Do you want a hug?” I asked.

 Poppy responded by turning and wrapping her arms around my neck. “Yesh” she said, a bit muffled, since her face was buried in my shoulder.

 Poppy was still hugging me, and I was holding her, when Mr. Caton came back with a tray of teacups. He looked concernedly at me, and I reassured him that I was perfectly fine with a small child barnacle.

 Lockwood cleared his throat. “Thanks for the tea, Mr. Caton. Holly, George, Kipps, can you three start setting everything up? I’m just going to ask Mr. Caton a couple last things, Lucy you stick with me. I’ll catch you up in a bit, but I want everything to be ready with plenty of time. I think an iron circle somewhere in the garden for sure, and a couple in the house as well?”

 “It was always my job to ask the client the questions, back at Fittes…” Kipps grouched, but slipped his goggles on and left with Holly and George quick enough. I smiled. Kipps sometimes made a token effort to act like he hated working at Lockwood & Co. but it was completely transparent to all of us how much he actually loved it.

 I refocused on Mr. Caton as well as I could while continuing to soothingly rub Poppy’s back.

 “Mr. Caton, why do you believe that it’s your wife haunting the garden?” Lockwood asked.

 “I should think that’s fairly obvious,” Mr. Caton remarked, “Poppy said it looks like her. And she always loved gardening. She spent every free minute outside, making our garden look beautiful.” He fell silent abruptly.

 “Thank you, that’s very helpful.” Lockwood said. “actually, if you wouldn’t mind Mr. Caton, we have a couple more questions that Poppy doesn’t need to hear the details of.” He squatted down in front of Poppy. “Sweetheart, want to sleep in your daddy’s bedroom tonight? You’ll be helping us out a bunch.” Poppy nodded, smiling shyly. “Alright then! Why don’t you go upstairs and get all your toys and blankets and pyjamas for tonight.”

 Poppy slowly disengaged from me, and left the room. Lockwood discreetly fiddled with his coat sleeve as I wiped my eyes. “You’re good with kids,” I said weakly.

 “Didn’t know children were the way to your heart, Carlyle.” Lockwood said impertinently.

I punched his arm. Hard. “Children _aren’t_ the—that’s not what I meant. I changed my mind, clearly Poppy is just willing to overlook your hideous features.”

 Mr. Caton cleared his throat. Right. I turned away from Lockwood to face our client. “When you bought this house, did you, er, hear anything unusual? About the house, I mean.”

 He looked thoughtful. “The real estate agent gave me quite a good offer, if that’s what you mean. I hardly think that’s cause for suspicion though, Miss…”

 “Carlyle.” I filled in smoothly. “Did they give you any information about the previous owners? Neighborhood gossip?” I knew I was fishing a bit.

 “Actually now that you mention it, Poppy told me that none of the neighborhood children will come over to play with her. She has plenty of friends, and she goes over to their houses all the time. I can’t recall the specifics though, you know how overactive some children’s imaginations are.”

 I felt a stab of annoyance, but before I could get going, Lockwood diplomatically said, “Well, we always want to have as much information as we can. Now, if that’s all you know, if you’ll excuse us we’d better get started.” Mr. Caton blinked at the obvious dismissal, then left the room.

 “Arg, it’s so frustrating when adults don’t listen to kids!” I burst out.

 Lockwood rolled his eyes. “Well it’s not exactly unusual. Shall we join the others?”

  

We cleared the house first, taking our time, and meticulously taking readings. Everything quiet. George thought he found a cold spot, but it just turned out to be a draft from the AC unit. That low level hum I’d noticed when we entered the house was gone too. Strangely enough, the actual location of Mrs. Caton’s death was quiet as well.

 I sidled up to Lockwood, who stood outside squinting at the place she’d fallen. “Is the death glow very bright?” I asked, squinting. I’d never been particularly sensitive in the visual spectrum, nowhere close to Lockwood. He must have forgotten his sunglasses.

 “Actually Luce, I can barely see anything at all.” Lockwood frowned, tilted his head to one side. “There’s a glow, but it’s very faint. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the death was completely ordinary.”

 “But Mr. Caton said the specter was quite strong, and Poppy described a distinctly recognizable apparition.”

 “Mmm…” Lockwood hummed, obviously not paying attention. He continued tilting his head, and now added stepping forward, squinting some more, and stepping back again, even attempting to pass his hand through the place. Privately, I thought he looked a bit like he was trying to dance the tarantella, in slow motion.

 “Skull,” I said in a low voice, “do you sense anything?”

  _Oh so you_ do _remember me! I’d started to think I’d been relegated to dusty old artifact. You know I hate it when you ignore me, Lucy._

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I can’t just start talking to nothing in front of a client, they’d think I’m mad!”

  _You say that so convincingly, but nobody’d be able to tell the difference, honestly. Anyway, this house. Definitely haunted, no question about that. Much stronger out back than inside the house, as I’m sure you noticed. And that death glow…interesting. Is that supposed to be Mrs. Caton’s?_

“Yes, obviously, which you’d know if you were paying attention at _all_.” I snapped. I was already regretting asking Skull for assistance, as I always did.

  _Tch, someone needs another cuppa…Well that really doesn’t look to me like a particularly_ haunted _death, if you know what I mean. Lockwood, on the other hand. If you skewered him right now, you’d never have to get flustered when he smiles at you again!”_

“Shut up.” I practically growled. I could feel my face go hot.

 Lockwood turned away from his inspection of the death glow. “Sorry?”

 “Skull!” I explained to Lockwood, still blushing, and promptly escaped behind some shrubs. I opened my rucksack and pulled out the ghost jar inside.   “I’ll close your jar if you keep making witty comments about killing my friends!” I hissed, fogging up the glass.

 Skull’s grotesque face grinned evily. _Ooh, touchy. But you know I’m right._ It let out a bright flare of green light. _There’s something strong close by, mm very strong. Old too._ It rotated in a circle in the jar, apparently looking around. _Anyway, what were you saying?_

“I need to know more about Mrs. Caton. If you had half a brain you’d remember.”

  _Unluckily for you, I’m dead! No brain to speak of! This is a nasty one, would give that Harper specter a run for his money. Give me a yell if you’re about to die._ And next thing I knew, I was talking to a plain old skull in a jar. I gave it a little shake. No reaction. Rolling my eyes, I stuffed it back into my bag. Obviously Skull wasn’t in the mood to be useful.

 I trudged back up to the house in the late twilight light. The stars were starting to come out. As I entered the kitchen, where we’d set up home base, I heard Lockwood and Holly bickering.

 “It makes no sense, Lockwood! You and Lucy have the strongest talents, so you should be in separate groups. I made a spreadsheet ages ago to chart our efficiency, and this is the best configuration.” Holly and Lockwood were standing toe to toe, while George and Kipps awkwardly tried to simultaneously pretend it wasn’t happening, and stare at the pair.

 “Yes, I’m aware, but spreadsheets don’t tell the whole story, do they?” Lockwood looked annoyed, and oddly flustered. “Remember that case when I was the floater? Lucy and I took care of that Visitor in no time, while everyone else was having tea and biscuits upstairs! And in case you don’t remember, Holly, this is my agency?”

 “Efficiency includes personal injuries, and you two are three times as willing to take unnecessary risks when you’re together!” Holly was nearly shouting. I was impressed by her lack of restraint. “It’s like you’re—you’re _feeding_ off each other’s stupidity!” She crossed her arms, a paper tightly crumpled in one hand. “I just don’t want any more injuries.”

 I cleared my throat from my position at the door. “It’s not a big deal, Lockwood. Holly’s been tracking this stuff and you haven’t. Holly and me and Kipps, and you and George. We can talk about it some more when we’re not _on a case_?” Lockwood and Holly fell silent, Lockwood looking faintly betrayed for some reason. I continued, “I think we should set up an iron circle down in the garden. Skull indicated that there was something strong down there, and I agree.”

 “That sounds like a great plan!” Holly said brightly, and the tension was broken. We dispersed to our various positions, with Lockwood and George checking the house, and Holly, Kipps and me warily heading to the garden.

 “Lucy, what did the Skull say exactly?” Holly asked as we tromped through the grass.

 “Ugh, it was completely vague, Hols! It’d be more useful as a—“ I cut myself off before I said anything more, remembering that Skull could in fact hear everything I said. “Er, it’s a really useful Skull, and I’m happy to have it, even if it _never tells me anything useful._ ”

 Kipps pulled his goggles down and remarked, “I know you keep that thing around because it gives you important insights or whatever Carlyle, but I have to say it seems like more trouble than it’s worth.”

 I didn’t respond. I knew the others didn’t quite understood my attachment to Skull. Then again, none of them could actually hear it, and none of them had endured an entire winter in which their only regular source of company was a ghost, so I dealt with the teasing. “This _thing_ has saved our lives more times than I can count, Kipps.”

 “Well spill, what did it say about this case?” Kipps responded, curiosity evident.

 I avoided his eyes, fiddling with my rapier. “It said it was strong…and nasty, and, uh, that’s about it actually.” I could practically hear Kipps’ eyebrow raise.

 Holly broke in. “It’s a bit later now though, maybe you can sense something!”

 We set up the iron circle with chains, and decided to check in with each other every half an hour. In the near-blackness of the moonless night, the trees and shrubs were eerie figures looming around us. The garden was laid out in narrow grassy paths, with densely packed flowerbeds on either side. I really _really_ hoped the Source wasn’t in one of them. We’d never find it.

 I didn’t run into any localized cold spots, and at our first check in, neither had Holly or Kipps. The second and third check ins were equally uneventful, which surprised me. Skull had seemed pretty sure about the presence of a Visitor down here. The night air was cooling down rapidly, and my hands were stiff by the time I volunteered to go up to the house and make a thermos of tea, and confer with Lockwood and George while I was there. If they hadn’t sensed anything, we’d probably need the help down here as the night wore on. “Although,” Holly pointed out, “none of us has felt much of anything yet.”

 George and Lockwood were sitting in the kitchen in near-darkness, eating biscuits and drinking tea. I busied myself with making up a thermos. “You should come join us in the garden if it’s dead up here; there’s definitely something going on.”

 “I’d say it’s not very dead at all, Lucy.” George said placidly, munching on his biscuit.

 Lockwood gave him the side-eye. “George’s been making puns all night. Bad ones.”

 A few minutes later, I was feeling much warmer, and considerably cheered at the prospect of all of us being together. We began walking towards the lower garden.

 “It’s a bit nippy outside, isn’t it?” George ventured. “Should have worn my second pair of long johns.”

 It was true, it was cold out. Quite a bit colder that when I’d gone into the house, come to think of it. I started walking faster. George had pulled out his temperature gauge, and was reading it off as we broke into a run. “18…16…12…”

 “Skull, now would be a really good time to tell me about this ghost!” I panted.

  _You were so rude earlier, Lucy, that I don’t know why you think I’ll help you now…_ came the familiar voice. _I’m going to need an apology._

 I gasped, “I do _not_ need to apologize to a mouldering old piece of—fine. I’m so sorry that I offended your delicate sensibilities. Please do forgive me, dear Skull.”

  _Well that’s the best I’m going to get, I imagine. It’s a powerful one, like I said, and old. I think even a po—_ Skull cut off abruptly. The same instant, all three of us were hit by a wave of bone-chilling cold. I managed to keep going forward, but only barely. We had to get to Holly and Kipps, now.

 I felt as if a heavy blanket was pressing on me, making my limbs hard to move. I felt the weariness of malaise tugging on me, telling me it would just be easier to lie down. Lockwood and George were having similar experiences, but we finally reached the iron circle.

 

It was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh what's going to happen next?? Oh yeah I'm writing this. Ack Awkward Flirting (tm) is my absolute favorite! I haven't tagged this as Lockwood/Lucy because that's not the focus of the story at all, and they're not going to get together in this fic. But I sure do love them and their adorkable obliviousness.  
> Oh, I described Lockwood as looking like he was dancing a tarantella in slow motion. If you would like to see the tarantella, go here ! ...Yeah, idk what in the world he's doing.  
> If you're enjoying this story, I'd love it if you left a comment/kudo : )


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang gets a better idea of what they're facing, but one of their agents has disappeared.

All three of us got in the circle and dumped our extra equipment. “Holly?” Lockwood called, his voice projecting out into the garden. “Kipps?”

 Nothing.

 Then, “Lockwood!” came Kipps’ voice from down one path. “Come quickly!”

 All three of us followed his voice. Kipps stood at an intersection of paths, rapier drawn. “I’ve lost Holly. Right after you left, Lucy the temperature dropped fast. I thought I saw Ne—someone, but when I came back she was gone.”

 I froze. “Who did you think you saw, Kipps?”

 “Just—it was noth—“

 “Kipps.” I said.

 His face was pained. “I saw Ned Shaw.”

 Oh. Ned Shaw had been the agent Kipps had lost back when he was working with Fittes Agency. He’d died in the line of duty, like too many good agents. We let Kipps have a moment to collect himself.

 George broke the silence. “So, probably not a Specter then.”

 We all nodded grimly. We hadn’t been expecting it to be totally straightforward, and this seemed to be the catch.

  _Well, congratulations on your stunning deductive reasoning, Cubbins! Lucy, tell that tea-stained idiot that I’ve decided I won’t garrote him after all._ I blinked, surprised. Skull’s voice emanating from my rucksack had, for once, said something that wasn’t criminal, or disgusting. _If he’s such a useless excuse for an Agent, I doubt he’ll last the night!_ Ah. That was more standard. _And just imagine how rotten you’ll feel when you see his bloated face and imagine how much better dealing with the poltergeist would have been, if only you picked a competent agent._

“First, you’ve got no hands.” I responded. I managed to extract the only bit of useful information Skull had said, and relayed it to the others. “Skull says it’s a poltergeist.”

We looked grimly at one another. Poltergeists were dark, tricky ghosts. They preyed on your darkest fears, your greatest wishes, clouded your mind until you thought they were real. It wasn’t surprising Kipps had seen Ned Shaw; he had been on Kipps’s team, and I suspected that Kipps felt at least partially responsible for his death.

 “Well, looks like we’ll have an exciting night then!” Lockwood said, dusting his hands together. “George, and myself will get on trying to figure out the source. Kipps and Lucy, start looking for Holly.

 He was right, as usual. Poltergeists, like all Visitors, got nastier as the night grew deeper, and given that we now had not a clue what was causing the haunting, the faster we got done, the better. I said, “Remember, you two are rubbish when it comes to auditory things, so if you hear Holly, _it’s Holly.”_ I, on the other hand, would have to be careful not to trust my ears too much. George and Lockwood nodded, and backtracked to the iron circle to grab some equipment.

 Kipps and I kept our backs to each other, rapiers drawn. “Got a grip on your emotions this time, Lucy?” he asked.

 “Yeah.” I said shortly. “Any clue where the source might be located?”

 “I was thinking back to George and my research, and I think we might be seeing the beginning of a cluster.” Kipps said in a low voice. “Something that appears as the latest acquisition it’s made to the cluster. The first haunting was a Grey Lady, well, maybe that was an old ghost. But the second haunting was tied to the motorbike, it didn’t have to do with the house at all. We’re almost at the edge of this property, the road is just back there. Possibly someone going for a stroll a bit too late?”

 “It’s weird though, that none of us sensed anything in the house. Allison Caton died there, and so did that old lady. Unless Mrs. Caton had a, I don’t know, favorite trowel buried in one of these flowerbeds. God I hope she doesn’t.” I said, looking at the densely packed bushes on either side of the path.

 “We need to pinpoint the source of the cluster. It has to be down here somewhere.”

 “Holly’s our top priority though. What happened after I left?”

 “Well, we hadn’t seen anything yet, so we split back up to keep looking around. Crikey, the layout of this place is a maze. The garden isn’t that big, but I keep getting disoriented.”

 It was true. Although the house was on a standard lot, this garden felt like it stretched far away in three directions. It was another sign that this was not the straightforward case we’d expected. “Me too. We’d better find Holly quick. I don’t like the feel of this place.” And Skull said it was powerful, I didn’t say.

 I was glad Kipps knew about Skull, since it meant I was able to share vital information without questions, but I was also very aware that my sixth senses set me apart from other agents. While others Talents dissipated, mine was only growing stronger and more precise. That wasn’t supposed to happen, and I knew it. The others were perfectly happy to have such a sensitive member of our team even if they were disturbed by Skull’s gruesome faces, but Kipps had a lot more experience than they did. He knew that 17-year-old agents didn’t get more sensitive. So, I tried to keep Skull-related revelations to a bare minimum when Kipps was around.

 “Well, George and Lockwood will find her if she’s in their directions. We’d better check out some different areas.”

 “Sounds like a plan. Let’s meet back here in twenty so we don’t end up covering the same areas.” Kipps said, and strode off in the other direction.

 Keeping my eye out, I took a different path. It was as if the garden had been soundproofed; no noises from the road reached my ears. There were really no sounds at all, except the low rustling of bushes in the gentle breeze. Minutes passed as I silently walked down one path and then another, senses tuned for the supernatural.

 I suddenly felt a wave of coldness wash over me, just for a second, and then it was gone. I stopped, took a few steps backward. There it was again! “Skull,” I whispered, “Do you feel that?”

  _Are you referring to the ghosts that are literally on the other side of that hedge? If so, yes!_ A green glow emanated from the edges of my rucksack. _If you’re referring to actually feeling something, I’ll remind you that I’m a_ skull _in a_ jar _. I can’t feel anything. I’m a ghost. If you would just loosen the lid a bit, I’d really be so much more useful! C’mon Lucy! You know you want to. Your pal Skully, out in the real world? I know you saw me at Rottwell’s. I have_ such _a nice form—_

I cut it off. “Shut. Up. Now.” I quickly took stock of my position. The hedge I’d sensed cold coming from was to my right. I seemed to be right at the edge of the formally maintained garden, and this hedge was a barrier between it and the very end of the property. I scanned up and down the path, but I didn’t see an opening anywhere. There had to be one. My head was filled with horrible scenarios of Holly, dying, Holly, dead, Holly….I broke into a run, heading towards one end.

 I heard a quiet cry, and raced around the hedge, bursting onto a terrifying tableau. Holly stood at the center of a weedy open space, arms pressed against her sides, eyes squeezed shut. I’d found the end of the yard; there was a weathered wooden fence along one side and what must have once been a weathervane lying rusted and disassembled at the base of the fence. And around Holly were _three_ ghosts. They circled her like lions around an antelope, creating a swirling ring of ghostly light. I needed to act quickly. I very deliberately felt for a packet of iron filings in my belt. Then in one motion I ripped it open and flung the contents in a wide arc. The ghosts flared bright and scattered, just as Holly collapsed like her strings had been cut. I charged towards her, rapier a blur of silver.

The ghosts reformed, all three holding hands in front of me, and I stood protectively over Holly, rapier pointing towards them.

  _We are three._ The women said in unison. One was very young. She looked only a few years older than me and wore an old fashioned housedress, a dark and bloody stain over her heart. The second looked to be Mrs. Caton, wearing her dressing gown, her head at an unnatural angle and long hair floating ethereally around her. The third was a frail looking old woman, fists clenched tightly at her sides. I felt a bit stupid, fear numbing my brain. We are three. Yes, there were three of them right there, I could see that. “Holly,” I muttered, “Now would be a great time to _get up_.”

 Holly remained curled on the ground, and I felt a stab of worry, enough to break the ghost-lock that had been creeping into my limbs. Had she been touched? She mumbled something I couldn’t understand. “What?” She repeated herself, still inaudible. I slowly leaned down, never taking my eyes off the three ghosts, keeping my rapier drawn. “Could you repeat that?” I asked in an even, calm voice.

 She was shaking. “I c-c-can’t see them.” She moaned.

 Oh no. I thought quickly. “Can you make out anything at all?”

 “Sometimes, but I d-didn’t notice them—when I…came here.” She forced out. “And then I could _feel_ them, but I couldn’t—see them, I panicked, God I was so scared.”

 This was very not good. We were far away from the iron circle, and Holly was in no state of mind to be fighting ghosts. Visitors preyed on your emotions. They got stronger, and you got weaker, the more scared, or angry you were. As good as I was with my rapierwork, I wasn’t nearly well-supplied enough to protect myself and Holly for any length of time.

 The ghosts spoke again, voices echoing in my head. _We are three._ The youngest one spoke. _I saw you with her. You said you were mine…you lied._ Ectoplasm extended in tendrils from all around them. Mrs. Caton spoke. _Meeting at all hours of the night and day. Her perfume was on your shirt. Liar._ Finally, the last woman spoke. _All the times you said you were gardening. And all along you were rolling around in the bushes with the maid. I wasn’t young and pretty enough to satisfy you!_ The frail old lady suddenly broke away from the other two. She lifted her arms, grasping the air and now I could see the many scars that criss-crossed her hands and forearms, the two dark slashes at her wrists.

 There was no hope of avoiding upsetting them. They were already pulsing bright with energy which meant Plan G, calmly backtrack to safety, was out of the question. “Holly, run, _now_.” I shouted, practically dragging her up from the ground. I grabbed her arm and started running in the direction of the rest of the garden, Holly stumbling behind me. Without looking I fumbled to grab a salt bomb and lob it over my shoulder. A screeching, screaming sound came from behind us, but we kept running.

 

 It was probably only a few seconds later that we made it back to our rendezvous point, but it felt like much longer. We careened into the circle, and I immediately turned to Holly. “Hols, are you alright? Holly, are you hurt—look at me.” In my worry, my voice came out sharper than I intended, and Holly suddenly choked back a sob.

 “I’m fi-fi—“ she was shaking.

 “Okay, sit down, right in the middle here.” I guided her to the ground. “You’re safe here. You’re completely safe.” This was not strictly accurate with three ghosts on the loose, but it was the best I could do right now. I sat on my heels and held Holly’s hands. “I need to go find Lockwood and Kipps, and figure out this source, fast. But how about you just stay here, got it?” I asked calmly. Holly nodded minutely. It would have to do. I paused for a moment to grab a magnesium flare and check my rapier, and left the protection of the iron chains.

 As I warily walked down a path, I tried to interrogate Skull. It stubbornly remained silent.

 I felt when Skull manifested. _There’s nothing like a little drama, ooh those three are_ not _happy. I heard it all. Cheated on, all three of them!_

“Does that have to do with the source?”

  _Really Lucy, I know you save most of your brainpower for ogling Lockwood when he’s not looking—_

_“_ I do not!” I protested hotly.

  _But use your remaining brain cells to think about the women._ The women. They’d all been murdered. They were all women. They’d all caught their husbands, or boyfriends, cheating on them. It was probably that last one.

I rounded a corner and there were Lockwood and Kipps. Lockwood let out a startled yelp before asking, “Did you find Holly?”

 “Yes, and you’d better come back to the circle.” I said tersely. “And watch out for ghosts.”

 “Ghosts? As in plural?” Lockwood asked, but I didn’t answer.

 To my infinite relief, Holly was still there, and looking considerably better than when I’d left her. She sat hugging her knees but she wasn’t shaking or crying, which I saw as a definite positive. She glanced up when we arrived, relief evident on her face. “Have you found anything?”

The four of us were a bit cramped in the circle, but every agent knows, safety is always more important than personal space. I asked Holly, “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

 Holly took a deep breath. “Me.” She paused, and turned to Lockwood and Kipps. “My talent’s fading. I could barely see the ghosts, but not enough to really be able to defend myself, and I got so emotional I was completely caught up in the miasma. I was nearly ghost-touched, and I’d probably already be dead if Lucy hadn’t found me in time. So I’m afraid I’m going to be out for the rest of the night.” Holly said miserably.

 Kipps frowned and tugged at his goggles. “You could borrow my ghost-goggles.”

 “Thanks. But I’m not used to _not_ sensing anything so they might only throw me off, and make me a liability, and besides you’re much better at your rapier-work than I am. I’ll stay here and organize ops.” Holly said determinedly.

 “That’s a good idea,” I said, and quickly brought the others up to speed on what Holly and I had seen. “So Kipps I guess you were right, it’s a cluster. But before we do anything else, where’s George?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again George's been sidelined. But wait, isn't he a very intelligent and competent agent? Why yes he is! I wonder where he could possibly have got to? Comments and Kudos are the fuel that feed my writing-brain, feel free to leave some! Up next: the conclusion of the case of the Triplicate Terror, and awesome!girls!!


	4. Chapter 4

The other three agents looked startled, as though they hadn’t even noticed George wasn’t with us.

“Er…” said Lockwood.

 “Um.” said Kipps.

 I rolled my eyes in frustration. “Lockwood, there is actually a _point_ to working in teams.”

 Lockwood looked sheepish. He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, we were wandering around, and then he said something about readings, and then I made a turn, and I just got a little turned around.” he smiled brightly. “Hey, this place is a complete nightmare to navigate.”

 I smiled back for a moment, mind a bit muddled by the sight of those dazzling teeth. Then I came back to my senses. “Actually, I noticed that too.” I turned to Kipps, “And you said almost the exact same thing!”

 Holly spoke up. “It’s the visitors. They’re messing with us, making the garden seem bigger, or more complicated, or something. I got completely turned around.”

 “Yeah, it’s almost like they’re protecting something, keeping us away.” I added. “We know the identities of two of the women—that’s Allison Caton and that old woman, but what about the third one?” I remembered how young she’d been. Her old fashioned clothes.

 “And I think Allison Caton broke her neck. But the old woman, she had all these cuts on her arms, like someone came at her with a—“ A rapier. Oh god. And those two dark cuts, right at her wrists. That hadn’t been someone scared to death. _She’d_ done that. Something had driven her to kill herself, just like Allison Caton. But why? And why had the papers lied?

 “Luce, you all right there?” Lockwood queried. I realized I’d stopped talking.

 “The source of the cluster was this young woman, from at least forty years ago. I’m sure of it.” Everything was clicking together, like a complicated puzzle. “She was stabbed by her husband, or boyfriend! And the old woman, she was next. She was that one you—the one George was talking about, who looked scared to death. Only she _wasn’t_ scared to death. She killed herself, and the papers lied. Allison Caton was the latest.”

 Kipps stared at me. “But what’s the connection? Why those two new women in the cluster, and not that motorcycle ghost?”

 Skull had been right. “All three of them had been in abusive relationships. Allison’s previous partner, I’m guessing. All three were cheated on. I think the first one…her husband killed her when she found out. That started it.” I remembered that aching pain I’d felt in the presence of the spirits.

  _Good girl, Lucy._ Said Skull. _Now let’s please get the source and get out of here. These ladies give me the heebie jeebies!_

“I don’t know what the source is.” I said to the group. “But I bet George’s figured it out, so we’ll probably find him where I felt the strongest presence.”

 Whatever anyone thought about Lockwood’s style of running an agency, when he got his planning face on, I knew we were about to get a Signature Anthony Lockwood Plan. Complete with megawatt smile. “Here’s what we’ll do. Holly, you’ll stay here and be ready with magnesium flares, salt bombs, whatever you need. Your job is to make sure they don’t move closer to the house. Remember, this—er, _they_ are a poltergeist, so it might look like one of us. Codeword will be ‘Portland Row’. If we don’t say it, it’s not really us. I suppose,” he added, “if it’s not us it’ll probably look a bit transparent to you. But we’re still going to use the codeword.” Holly nodded.

 Lockwood turned to Kipps and me. “We three are going to find George and figure out this source. Lucy, you think you know the way?”

 “Yes. It’s not that far. Or, it shouldn’t be. It’s playing with what we see, making this place seem bigger than it is, but I felt the strongest presence at the very bottom of the garden where I found Holly.” And we stepped out of the safety of the circle, and into the darkness.

 We quickly made our way towards the far end of the property. The path leading up to where I knew the hedge was impenetrably black, black not so much the absence of light but a visceral substance. We exchanged glances, then simultaneously pulled out our torches and flicked them on. It would kill our night vision, but we didn’t want to chance getting lost when George was probably on the other side, all alone. We advanced into the soupy darkness.

 Deep breaths. In, out. Don’t think of Holly, shaking on the ground. Don’t even entertain those thoughts of George, ghost touched and cold before we found him. Don’t _think_ just walk.

 Suddenly, the darkness dimmed, then lifted completely. We ran ahead, hedge right in front of us.

 When we came around the hedge, the first thing I noticed was the inescapably horrible sight of George’s bottom wiggling around in the air. He was bent over, apparently tugging at something, which had the unfortunate side effect of making his rear do an exciting and very creative dance. I looked away as quickly as possible.

 The clearing was just the same as I’d left it, including the three wispy ladies floating around. George had evidently recently thrown a magnesium flare, which was still fizzling on the bare dirt. This was good, as he was in a rather _vulnerable_ position.

 George peered at us from between his legs. “Oh hello you three. Care to help me get this godforsaken weathervane out—ug“ he pulled on what looked like a rusted wing, “from under this pile of junk?” It was the Source. It had to be the Source; the poltergeist behind us were agitated, only temporarily held back by the bright light of the magnesium flare.

 I looked at Lockwood and Kipps. They were still staring, horrified, at George’s behind. “This is ridiculous. Move up so I can help, George.” I marched up to George and fumbled to grip the rusted surface of the weathervane.

 

  _Pain. Fiery hot pain in my chest, and shouting. I can’t make out the words—my ears are full of cotton, there’s a ringing sound that just gets louder. He’s furious, lashing out, again, and again, and again—_

I ripped my hand away, panting. George jerked his head to look at me concernedly. I looked away, glanced over my shoulder, and was relieved to see Lockwood and Kipps with their rapiers out, stances indicating they were prepared to thrash these visitors thoroughly. I took one slow, shaky breath in, and let it out just as shakily. Then, I fished a pair of sturdy leather gloves out of my coat pocket, slipped them on, and grabbed it firmly.

 It was a very large weathervane and worse, it was completely tangled up with dead grass and tough ivy vines, and long boards of wood with rusty nails sticking out of them. In a word, it was disgustingly enmeshed with the rubbage heap. We gave a few hard tugs. Nothing budged. We started untangling.

 Unfortunately the Source was intricately connected to everything else. As soon as one of us got any progress, the other one messed it up again. I glanced at my wrist. The temperature was dropping, and from the sounds behind us, Lockwood and Kipps weren’t exactly having a walk in the park.

 “Stop tugging—“ Tangled again.

 “Move it this way—“

 “That was my foot!”

 “Wait—“

 In a flash of inspiration, I pulled out my sturdy pocketknife and started cutting away junk. Almost free—nearly there—and we’d got it!

 “Back to the circle!” I practically screamed.

 We pelted back the way we’d come. “We put this thing _in_ the circle!” I gasped. “Get Holly out, and then trap it!”

 Lockwood’s voice came from behind me, and even though we were in mortal peril, I could hear his smile. “Good thinking Luce!”

 The four of us raced to the iron circle, and as soon as I could see Holly, I yelled, “Get everything out of the circle!” She scrambled into action.

 We arrived just as Holly was lugging a bag of magnesium flares outside the chain. “Get yourself out… _now!”_ I threw the rusty weathervane in just as Holly pulled herself away.

 The temperature rose abruptly. I felt suddenly lighter, like I hadn’t realized I’d been wearing a heavy coat until I took it off. And three spitting mad ghosts materialized inside our protective-circle-turned-containment-device, amongst the odds-and-ends Holly hadn’t had time to remove.

 We observed the ghosts in exhausted silence for a minute. Finally Lockwood cleared his throat. “I’d say that’s a job well done! We’ll come back in the morning to properly contain the Source; I don’t want any of us going in there unless it’s daylight.”

 We all nodded grimly. Past experience had taught us that poltergeists were not to be trifled with. Yawning, we packed up as much gear as we could and trooped up to the Catons’ house.

 

Back at 35 Portland Row, morning came with much rubbing of eyes and sleepily making mugs of steaming hot tea. I’d almost forgotten just how tired a really decent case made me. One by one, we all trickled into the kitchen in our pyjamas and slippers. At eleven, Lockwood and Kipps headed to the Catons to properly dispose of the Source. Holly disappeared downstairs, leaving George and me to blink owlishly at each other.

 We munched our doughnuts and drank our tea in silence as we woke up. George could always be counted upon to be just as groggy in the mornings as I was. I mulled over the events of the previous night.

 Holly’s Talent was fading. This was a real blow; she’d never been as strong as, say, Lockwood and me in terms of sensitivity, but she _was_ a very competent agent. We only had one pair of ghost goggles, which would need to be changed as soon as possible, preferably by George figuring out how they worked and creating a new pair. With our current status as a blacklisted Agency, no reputable agents would be joining the company any time soon to replace her as a field agent. And really, I doubted any of us particularly wanted to train someone new to our considerable level of expertise. We were a team, with good team chemistry and we were the best agents in London. Who knew if a new person would throw us off, and Lockwood  & Co. couldn’t afford to be anything but the best.

 I finished my breakfast, feeling considerably more alert. I realized that there was something missing from our usual after-job morning routine, or some _one_ ; namely, Holly cheerfully chattering away as she whipped together some weird, healthy breakfast concoction for herself, probably involving seeds. Sometimes there were also sprouted things.

 The kitchen felt…empty without her infectious energy. I grabbed a second doughnut, and headed downstairs to the basement.

 Holly Munro sat dejectedly at her desk, listlessly going through piles of receipts. Her eyes looked a bit puffy and red, and she was wearing a fluffy bathrobe over top of her regular clothing. Everything else about her general appearance was perfect, of course. But I knew that this little sliver of imperfection meant nothing less than catastrophe when it came to Holly.

 “Thanks George, but I’m not hungry.” She mumbled without looking up.

 I hesitantly approached the desk. “Actually, it’s me.”

 “Oh, hello Lucy.” She saw what I was carrying in a napkin. “I changed my mind, could I have that doughnut?” I handed it over.

 “You know, it’s not the worst thing to happen.” I said awkwardly. This was useless. I was horrible at talking to girls. Why did I think this was a good idea?

 “No. I could be dead. That would be worse.” I blinked at Holly’s tone. “…Lucy, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” She said after a moment. “I’m just—I don’t know what I’ll do now.“ she sniffed.

 “We’re not going to make you leave!” I replied earnestly. “Seriously Hols, don’t even worry about that. We’re going to figure out those goggles, and even if we can’t, you’re really good at other things!”

 “I hadn’t even thought about that yet. I supposed I should have.” She said quietly. “Of course I’ve always known it would happen. You can’t exactly stop time.” She said with a weak laugh.

 We sat in silence for a minute, Holly sitting in her desk chair, me perched on the edge of the desk. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, but a friendly presence is usually better than being sad by yourself.

 Then Holly suddenly stood up. “Lucy. I want you to help me with my rapierwork.”

 “Okay. Right now?”

 “Yes, right now, why not?” Holly said determinedly, pushing back from the desk and taking a huge bite of her doughnut. “I’ve always pushed aside my rapierwork, but I’m going to have a disadvantage now, even with goggles. I’ve got to be amazing with everything else.”

 “Honestly Hols, you don’t have a huge amount of room for improvement.”

 “Don’t flatter me.”

 “…but your rapierwork is probably the area that could use the most work, is all I was going to say.” I continued hastily.

 We moved ourselves to the practice room. Holly was looking considerably less weepy, and there was a fierce determination in her eyes that impressed me. Everyone knew that losing your Talent spelled the end of your career as an agent, marked the transition from a capable defender of humanity to what was essentially a has-been.  But that wasn’t true for Lockwood & Co.

 “Shall I set up the dummies then Hols?”

 “Yeah, could you hang up Floating Joe?”

 I heaved the dummy up to hook on the ceiling. “Want to catch a break from terrifying female ghosts, hmm?”

 Holly made a face before settling into a standard defense stance, rapier steady in front of her. “Those three were horrible. I couldn’t really even see them, but I felt so…desolate.”

 I agreed. “And they were all murdered by their partners. Nasty stuff.”

 Holly looked shocked. “Really? Oh no…”

 “Yeah, they went on and on about it. I reckon the one who started it got stabbed to death with that weathervane.” I wrinkled my nose. “I think some of that rust might have been blood, actually.”

 “That’s horrible! But what about Mr…”

 “Yeah.” I chose a rapier off the wall, and swished it in a Brandais knot with much more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. “I think Allison Caton must have had an ex-husband though. Mr. Caton was clearly completely mad for her, and if you’d seen her ghost…anyway. Show me your Double Ward.” There’s nothing quite like discussing the fates of women who’d been killed by their husbands and boyfriends to make you feel a bit down, and anyway I was much better at swords than girls.

 Holly’s rapier cut through the air in a decent double ward. Before Lockwood had taken it upon himself to nitpick every single move I knew, I would’ve said it was perfect. “Make sure to keep your center of gravity low, you’re less likely to lose your balance. And make sure the tip of your blade makes it all the way down on the downstroke. Lockwood’s always getting after me about that one.”

 Holly executed the ward again.

 “Better. Now do it at Floating Joe.” I stood off to the side, and Holly attacked the dummy.

 Several repetitions later, she was looking very good. Holly’s work ethic was impressive, and I didn’t doubt she’d iron out all the wrinkles in her technique she could find. However in spite of myself, I was getting a little bored just watching and occasionally giving tips. An idea popped into my head.

 “Okay, one last time.” Holly took a deep breath, and attacked. Just before she reached the dummy, I croaked in my best sailer accent, “Arrr I’m a pirate mate!” Her lips twitched, but she steadfastly continued advancing, blade flashing. “Matey, why ye be doin all this swashbuckling wi’out any sautéing?”

 Holly snorted, then let out an aborted laugh. I pushed farther, “Noodlin yer blade about, are ye?”

 She collapsed into a fit of giggles, and gasped, in a horrible accent, “Wiggling me sword without wetting it?”

 I was laughing too. “Ooh that’s good! Sweepin the deck without swabbing?”

 “Cutting the—hah—butter without crimping!” She snorted, which set us both off again.

 “That doesn’t make—any sense!”

 “I know! I was thinking about scones!”

 After several minutes of increasingly ridiculous pirate dialogue, our giggles slowed, all tired out. We were both sitting on the floor, occasionally unable to prevent more laughter for a second whenever we made eye contact.

 There came a huff at the door, and Holly and I looked up from our positions.

 George leaned against the doorway; arms crossed, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Er, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’ve got scones in the oven and I came to ask if—what’s wrong with you two? Why’re you laughing at me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's a wrap folks! This has been a fun fic to write for sure. I'm seriously considering writing some tie ins. Possible material: who was Holly writing to? What about the totally inaccurate newspaper article? Will anyone ever remember George? If you enjoyed this fic, comment or kudoify it! Makes my day. My Lockwood & Co tumblr is @skullandcarlyle

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a 4 chapter fic! I've got the whole thing written. This takes place a few weeks after Marissa comes and threatens the gang. If you've read the first chapter of The Empty Grave, it's technically a canon-divergent AU at this point, but it hasn't come out yet! Anyway, someone prompted me on tumblr several months ago, and I finally finished writing, go me. Comments and/or kudos really make me happy, feel free to leave them! You can find me over at tumblr dot com @skullandcarlyle 


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